Don't Turn Back
by Gadien Elf
Summary: Not everyone makes it home.


**Don't Look Back**

**Summary**: Not everyone makes it home.

**Inspiration**: The James Newton Howard soundtrack to King Kong - song title: Central Park. I can send it over IM, if anyone's interested. AIM: Mountaineer Elf (with the space in between).

**Timeline**: Late S2, but it's kind of a stand alone, so doesn't matter.

**Rating**: PG-13 for blood, but it's completely angst. If you're in a holly jolly mood, I wouldn't recommend this fic to cheer you up.

Chapter 1/1:

* * *

He could count on one hand the number of missions he'd been a part of that had gone awry. The usual routine of a rescue was always shadowed by the looming threat of hostiles, though he'd never paid much attention to the darkness. 'Always able to find the light,' his mother would say. 

Even so, there were moments of his existence where there hadn't been a light to find, when he was fairly sure that said statement didn't apply only to him.

He stepped into the shadow the moment the team had been split; the enemy had been waiting for them. Sydney's team moved to the left of the small run-down town as he took the ally to the right. The gear seemed to weigh him down as the familiar load settled down on his upper back. Shouldering his weapon, Vaughn gave the signal to move out toward the extraction point.

"I'm going in for the prisoner; cover me, Bravo-1." Sydney's voice crackled over his comm. As he tried to ignore the rising fear in his stomach, he quickly jumped into the shadows of the buildings ordering his team down as the dirt-covered ground was peppered with bullets.

"Mountaineer, retreat – the area is too hot, we'll try again tomorrow." His order went unheeded by the agent as he heard the mimicking sounds of gunfire over his ear as well as around him, the surround-sound far too real for his liking.

He heard every breath she took. Despite knowing that the rest of the team could as well, his thoughts were centered on the amount of ammunition being unloaded on her position.

"Mountaineer is out of sight," Bravo-1 commented.

"Ascertain her position and get the hell out of there!" Jack's stern voice crackled from his position in the command center.

Vaughn reluctantly made his way back to the safe zone, pulling off his helmet and plopping into a vacant chair. They hadn't been able to recover their agent, and for that he felt disheartened until he heard the familiar thud of a bullet hitting a protective vest.

"Sydney?" he called, forgoing protocol as he waited for her to answer.

Another thud and an anxious moment of silence following. "Bravo-1 to base camp, we've got a casualty. Agent Henderson was hit, he's – he's dead."

"Get out of there ,Bravo-1." Another man – one Vaughn didn't know – ordered from his position, Michael jumping to counter his demand.

"We've still got an agent inside, you can't abandon her!"

"She chose to go into the hostile zone, Agent Vaughn; it was her prerogative."

"You can't leave her behind!" he shouted, several of the soldiers looking at the young man in wonder as they took off their suits.

"Bravo-1 and Bravo Team request orders, sir. Mountaineer still hasn't returned."

"We'll send in another team when the area's cooled down a bit, Bravo-1. No one'll get left behind, soldier," he promised, his words aimed directly at Vaughn.

"Bravo-1, target is dead, I repeat, Agent Sanders is dead." Sydney's voice broke through the thick air. "Thanks for leaving me behind, Colonel," she growled as both Jack and Vaughn smiled. "I'm on my way out now-" she was cut off with a grunt as a bullet slammed into her vest, knocking her back as she lost her footing on the rickety staircase.

Fighting the unpleasant pressure of breathing through the throbbing sensation, she pushed herself up and lifted her gun. She spotted a shadow moving her way, her voice calling out.

"Friendly!" she shouted, hearing angry Arabic in response. Waiting for the man to show around the corner, she fired a single shot through the man's forehead as her father's concerned voice bounced through her addled brain.

"Mountaineer…report!"

"Got shot, but I'm okay. Hit my vest; sore though," she laughed, sitting up from her slumped over position as a shadow moved over her, firing three shots in rapid succession.

She cursed at the first hit her knee, shattering the patella. She second went straight through her lower arm as she'd reached for the railing to push herself up.

The third, thankfully, slammed into the soft wood next to where she was sitting.

"I need an extraction, immediately!" she shouted, lifting her gun and firing up the steps in a vain attempt to distract the hostile above her.

Two more shots rang down, the first skimming off of the edge of her helmet as the other plowed at an awkward angle into her shoulder, barreling through her collar bone and into her chest. She flopped back against the stairs as she struggled to breathe, dimly hearing Vaughn calling her name.

"I'm going back in." Michael's face was visibly pale as he noticed Jack suiting up from his peripheral vision. "Jack, you'll slow me down."

His voice was hard as the senior Bristow looked with sad yet understanding eyes at the young agent.

Bravo Team entered the large tent, two of the four men carrying the casualty.

"Agent Vaughn, you will remain in camp. That's an order!"

"You are not my superior officer!" he shouted back. "If you'd sent in the team after her…" he stopped, Jack's hand on his shoulder pulling the angry young man away from the quickly boiling Colonel.

Michael's frantic and furious eyes landed on Jack's equally concerned orbs. "Bring her back," he gruffly handed the semi-automatic to the surprised agent.

Nodding silently, he pulled his helmet tight over his head and snapped it before retreating into the falling night.

He wound his way through the buildings, ordering everyone the turn off their earpieces so he could talk to Sydney and Sydney alone. He received a hesitant okay, and soon the only sounds breaking through the comm. were those of Sydney's harsh breathing.

"Hang on, baby, I'm on my way," he pleaded as he ran. Picking off several targets before reaching the building, he stormed in. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of the stairwell as he saw her prone body laying against the cold wood, a man above her as he rifled through the many pockets adorning her suit – probably in search money or important papers.

Yanking his knife out of its sheath he lunged at the man, the blade sliding easily through the tattered shirt he wore and through his spine. Ripping it up for good measure, Vaughn lifted the insurgent and tossed him down the remaining flight of stairs, his green eyes instantly focusing on the injured woman before him.

She saw him and sent a brief smile in his direction as he reached her side.

Vaughn unsnapped their helmets, tossing them aside as he cradled her face with his large hands. "Sydney? You gotta stay with me baby, I'm right here. I'm gonna get you out of here, I swear." His eyes welled with tears as he wiped off the blood splatters that littered her ghostly white cheek.

"C-cold," she mumbled, Vaughn leaning in as he pulled out the small hunting knife from inside his boot.

"I'll warm you up when we get home, okay? You gotta stay here with me," he ordered through clenched teeth as he sliced through the bindings of her vest, noticing for the first time the blood that was pooling and dripping down the step next to her head.

Making quick work of her button-up shirt, he ripped it open to reveal a gaping wound at the bottom, left side of her ribcage, a steady flow of blood leaving her alabaster skin.

"Okay, sweetie, we've got an exit wound." Speaking primarily to himself, he followed it up to her shoulder and noticed the blood pulsing out of her shoulder, far too close to her neck for his liking.

"Vaughn…" she started, stopping when a deep shuddering cough ripped from her chest, crimson liquid following and tainting her lips to a cherry-red.

Assessing the situation he soon realized that there was nothing he could do. By the sound of her breathing he could tell that the bullet had pierced the lung and that it had collapsed moments ago. The amount of blood she was loosing was staggering, and panic set in.

"Sydney, I…don't know what to do; I – I need your help." Tears rapidly filled his eyes as he wiped the blood from her chin with his thumb, though with his stained hands he merely succeeded in smearing and adding to it. He attempted to put pressure against her stomach, but noted that the blood followed the other outlet at her shoulder.

"It's okay…it's okay," she repeated, settling her hands over his on her torso. Twining their fingers together, he looked up at her as his lower lip quivered. "It's okay," she said again.

"I just got you," he grunted past the lump in his throat as she sent him a smile through her bloodied lips.

"You've still…got me," her voice was hoarse and shallow. "Not…not too bad; ca-can't really feel pain."

He tried not to let his heart break at her statement, merely nodding and pulling his hands away to button up her shirt. Grabbing a roll of gauze, he wrapped it tightly around her stomach and lower ribs in an attempt to staunch the flow, though the white was quickly stained as it bled through.

"I'm gonna take care of you, okay? You just rest for a minute. We'll get back and get you all fixed up," he began to ramble, the incessant reassurances leading into his version of their future – their kids, what kind of house they'll own.

"Vaughn," she interrupted, lifting her uninjured arm as she set a cold hand to his cheek. "I love you."

His gaze jumped to her honest brown eyes, seeing a glimmer of light slowly fading.

"Don't say that."

"But I do," she smiled sadly, tracing her finger over the dimple on his chin as her weakened hand flopped down to thud on the hard wood of the stair. He winced when she didn't, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

"I don't want you to say that now, tell me later," he growled through the swelling emotion lodging in his throat as she stilled his working hands.

"Hold me?" she squeaked, the rasp of her voice barely audible as blood pooled at the corner of her mouth, dripping down her chin due to the angle at which she was lying. He wiped at it with a piece of gauze, seeing her desperate need for him shining in her eyes. With a stilted nod, he pulled her gently up against his chest, his back twisting to lean against the wall. Planting himself beside her, he tilted her sideways and lifted her up over his leg and into his lap.

The way they were sitting, he'd be able to get her comfortable enough to stand and carry her back to base camp. The darkness of nightfall would be their only ally because he wouldn't be able to carry a gun and his wounded partner at the same time.

She tucked her head into his neck like she always did when he held her close, her labored breath fanning his sweating throat. Michael whispered to her, his words turning to sobbed statements as he ran his hands over her back.

"I love you so much, Sydney, I…just need you to hang on. Let me carry you back to camp, you'll – you'll get better, I promise." He was almost pleading with her to stay with him as he rose and started his trek out of the building.

The cool night of the Middle East chilled his hot skin as well as the tear streaks left on his face. Vaughn ran blindly until the lights of the camp could be seen and he'd entered the perimeter, knowing it was safe. He pushed past the onlookers and deposited her onto a metal table as doctors placed face-masks over their mouths and noses.

"See, baby? I got-" he stopped quickly as he looked up at her face, her eyes glazed, unfocused and half closed. "Sydney?" he called, the surgeons backing away with sad gazes as one lifted her arm and checked for a pulse. Shaking his head, he slid his fingers up to her neck, hopeful to find a shallow beat against his fingertips.

"No pulse," he pulled his gloves off, turning to a man with a clipboard beside him. "Time of death: 17:06 hours."

"No…no, I promised!" Michael shouted, turning to look back down at her still body. "You have to save her!"

Hands grabbed his arms and pulled him away, Michael's tough visage dissolving quickly. "I promised I'd keep her safe…you have to do something!" he pleaded as the flap closed, the rough arms that had yanked him away from Sydney's deathbed wrapping around his torso as Vaughn slid to the dirt.

Sobs wracked his frame as he shook against the man holding him. Harsh cries ripped from his throat as he beat at the soil with his fists and cursed the sky. Falling back against the ground, he covered his face with his hands and cried. The man beside him offered no words of encouragement or otherwise, merely staying silent through Vaughn's grief.

Minutes – possibly hours – droned by as Michael calmed somewhat, his hands flopping away from his dirt-stained face and peered over at the person beside him. Tears slipped silently down Jack's face as he met the green eyes of his daughter's young lover.

A pact was quietly made between them as they cried together in the middle of a dirt road in Kashmir, grieving over the loss of the one person that had kept them both going. Their heartache was achingly similar, though in the same instance completely devoid of any similarity.

While Vaughn mourned a lover, Jack swam in the anguish over losing his daughter – but each of them had lost Sydney.

An hour later, Jack stood abruptly and walked back into the tent. The doctors had vacated, leaving only the still body of Sydney Bristow on the cold cot. He frowned as he took note of the blood-stained clothing she was still in - thankful at the same time that the doctors had placed dressings over the wounds and had cleaned the blood from her skin. Finding a spare button-up shirt, he grabbed it and stalked over with brimming eyes, gently removing her previous covering with caring hands. Careful of her cold body as she hung limply in his arms, he sat her up with one protective hand to the back of her neck as he tried to maneuver the shirt onto the table behind her.

Unfortunately, it required more hands than he had free – which he was quick to notice. Frustrated tears trailed down his face as he held her close to his chest while desperately trying to straighten the shirt out so he could dress her in something other than bloodied rags.

A second pair of hands joined the redressing, Jack looking up and seeing the red, swollen face of Agent Vaughn as he spread out the material on the table - each of them lowering her back down as Jack kept his hold at the back of her head so it wouldn't slam down onto the metal.

Michael pulled back, allowing the brokenhearted father to slide her arms into the overly large holes and button it up quietly over her ghostly hued skin. Vaughn's eyes were still drawn to her face - her still half-opened eyes sending a shiver down his spine. Reaching out with a shaking hand he closed them, feeling Jack's thankful stare as the elder Bristow stood and whispered to his daughter.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to her forehead and leaving the tent as Michael found himself utterly alone with her prone form.

Grabbing a folding chair, he positioned it beside her and took her left – uninjured – hand into his. Reaching into his coat, he extracted a velvet box from a hidden pocket. Flipping it open with his thumb, the small diamond ring sparkled in the fluorescent light of the tent.

Sliding it silently over her ring finger, he kissed her hand twice then pressed a kiss to her unresponsive lips before walking toward the exit. He paused, desperate to turn back to look at her once last time – stopping himself only because of his desire to remember her not as a cold body on a metal table, but as the lively woman he'd loved…and subsequently lost.

"Don't turn back," he heard Jack's broken voice calling from the outside of the tent. "If you do, you won't be able to leave. Don't turn back," he ordered once more, Michael heeding the command and walking into the night.

'Don't turn back,' he echoed in his mind, sharing a heartfelt hug with the senior agent before retreating to his own tent to find his things mingled with Sydney's. The sorrow punched him in the chest as he gathered his blanket and pillow, thinking twice and switching it with hers before leaving the tent.

"Jack?" he called, seeing the light on in the man's own tent.

"Vaughn?"

"Can…ummm…can I stay with you?" he asked, sounding and feeling more like a scared little boy asking to sleep with his parents after a bad dream.

The tent-flap opened as Jack held a full bottle of whisky in his hand. "There's room for all three of us," he stated openly, allowing the younger agent into the spacious dwelling.

He tossed his things down, noting that Jack had already laid out a pad for him to sleep on. Rather than question, he flopped down and tossed an arm over his eyes.

"Vaughn," when there was no reply, "Michael?"

Looking up with a tearful gaze, Vaughn noticed the fatherly look Jack was sending his way as well as a large shot of whisky.

Accepting it and waiting for Jack to fill his own, he held it up in a toast.

"For Sydney?" he tentatively asked, not caring for once to look like the bigger man in front of Jack Bristow.

"For Sydney." Jack conceded as they clinked glasses and drank.

* * *

A/N: Listening to that song 74 times put me into a SERIOUSLY angsty mood, so there's my little one parter. I actually welled up while writing, which doesn't happen too often. I'd love feedback; it's what makes me keep writing! You can let me know here, at SD-1, or e-mail: to my lovely beta Sara: YOU ROCK!

-Jean


End file.
